


Hollow Moon

by januarywren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, IT - Stephen King
Genre: 2017 Pennywise, Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animagus, Breeding, Brief tomione, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Fantasy, Deadlights (IT), Dominant Pennywise (IT), Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Eldritch, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Bonding, Forced Pregnancy, Horror, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Lactation Kink, Lovecraftian, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Hermione Granger, Other, PWP, Past Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Pennywise (IT) in Love, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Pheromones, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Pennywise (IT), Pregnancy Kink, Shameless Smut, Shapeshifting, Skyrim References, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-10-14 14:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20602061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: “Have you forgotten your manners, little Hermione?” His warm breath caressed her face as he moved his head closer; resting his temple against hers. “Surely you wouldn’t have left me behind without leaving out dinner.” His lower lip curved into a pout. “Or have you?”Her thoughts spun as she went to step back, and his arms tightened. “I don’t know- “Oh, but she had a sinking feeling, as his words sank in.“You do though, don’t you?” He cooed. His wild eyes glinted in the darkness, and she swallowed dryly. They were eyes that she knew, she realized. Eyes that she saw every morning, as her familiar pawed at her cheek, and meowed pitifully for breakfast.AU | An eldritch has his sight set on Hermione...





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReverseHipster (jaguaria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaguaria/gifts), [NCUH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NCUH/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wingardium Leviosa, (Because It Makes Things Float)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13999872) by [ReverseHipster (jaguaria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaguaria/pseuds/ReverseHipster). 
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the talented, ReverseHipster (jaguaria)! 🦝🖤
> 
> I read her Pennywise/Hermione story, "Wingardium Leviosa, (Because It Makes Things Float)", on a whim and fell in love with it. It's a unique story with clear passion behind it, and the author is an absolute sweetheart. 🖤
> 
> The pairing may seem unusual at first, but the more I read of her work, the more I saw how the pair *could* work. I re-read her work the night before I ended up seeing IT Part 2, and was S H O O K at how on point her characterization of Pennywise was. He's far more manipulative and intelligent than anyone knows. He has a strong primal nature too, something I wanted to explore in this fic; as well as his manipulation (yet true, twisted feelings) for Hermione. 
> 
> I was waiting to work on this towards Halloween but...the season is coming early this year (in other words, my beta was going to block me if I mentioned how much I wanted to work on this story again ;;)! Updates will be slow before October but will pick up after that. Like my story, Wild Ones, it's a PWP from the first chapter to the last. 🖤 
> 
> I hope that you like this, RH! :) 
> 
> PS: For anyone wanting to picture a different look for Pennywise, know that he can take any form/appearance he wants to. ;) I've tried to humanize his appearance while keeping in mind his original form, and how Crookshanks would look as a human. If you need some inspiration; just picture Pennywise/Crooks as looking like Domhnall Gleeson, Sam Heughan, or my favorite Jason Isaacs. Or, you know, the actor who plays the new Pennywise, Bill Skarsgård. 🖤

The yellowed moon hung high in the sky, it's light weakly reaching the forest below. Through the thicket of trees, a young witch wandered, clutching her woven basket to her side. She knew it was dangerous to be out at night, something that she should never be doing.

Yet _oh_!

The book of poems she’d found had lulled her into sleep, at the base of a great weeping willow tree. Its branches had curled beneath her feet and weaved about her as if cocooning her and bloomed handfuls of leaves beneath her head. She'd been so relaxed, and had enjoyed the book thoroughly; soon enough, she'd found her eyes closing!

She’d startled awake and jumped to her feet; stuffing her book into her basket, where it was filled with herbs and mushrooms she’d foraged. She’d clutched her cloak tighter about her shoulders as she ran, crashing loudly through the undergrowth, and hoped she’d make it home.

“Oh Merlin,” Hermione chided herself. She’d gone without her wand too; a very, very _stupid _thing for any witch to do, especially one that lived alone in the murky forest. Her cabin was one she'd found abandoned, set on stilts amidst the swamp; with a rickety, rope bridge to reach it. She'd cast strong wards and made the home as warm as she could; creating a thicket of rocks for a fire, crafting a window that overlooked the only part of the swamp where sunlight was, and knitting a colorful blanket for her bed.

It was a change to call somewhere her own; after being raised with the others, witches and wizards, in the capital city. There wasn't a place for their belongings; each occupying a thinly stuffed mattress and had nothing to call their own until they came of age and chose their own wands. They were all children that had been taken from their homes when their magic blossomed; her first burst of accidental magic happening when she had the fire kindle itself, to boil the water in the kettle. Her parents had shielded her for a handful of years before the authorities took her, and she'd joined the others who studied magic and learned how to control it. She'd never felt at home there, always sleeping half-alert, and waiting for someone to hex her, or bats to swoop in through the open windows, and screech as they flew about the crowded rooms. It was only after she'd slept soundly in her cabin that she realized she had a choice in how to make it a place she wanted to own, somewhere she belonged in.

  
  
It could have been the comfort of her home or the array of flowers that hung from her door that called creatures to her; her familiar Crookshanks had thrown himself against her door, a near-feral kneazle that had been skimmed with an arrow. She'd treated him with dittany and fed him fish that she’d caught in the mud; before letting him sleep at the foot of her bed. After that, he’d never left; and more had made their way to her door: starving raccoons (that she gave a bit of milk and dried meat to, thereby ensuring they showed up promptly every evening), a mink that caught her foot in a trap, and even an owl that had twine twisted around its beak and its mate that had screeched in distress.

  
  
There were magical creatures too; creatures like her, that had fled from the surrounding cities, coming from as far as the northern coast to hide in the rueful mist, and dark shadows of the forest. They lived by the laws of nature, and magick, instead of the laws of man.

  
  
One man.

  
  
_Voldemort_, a warlock who wanted to keep magic entirely for himself. He craved it, they said, devouring wizards between his teeth; and laughed as they screamed, feeling themselves being torn apart. He wanted their magick; their power, that would keep him immortal. Others scoffed that it was a myth, the same as the bards sang about, a mere story. Hermione knew that it was true.

  
  
He’d devoured her best friend, Harry, the night they’d gone to escape the palace after they'd been forced to accept their apprenticeships there. They’d been watching their king, Tom Riddle, for months after their friend Ron had gone missing, and too many things hadn’t added up. Hermione had followed the prick of her skin, and the shiver of her fingers; and held back, when Harry had wanted to go forward into the king’s private study. “_We have to get it_\- “

  
  
He’d found a journal, he said, one that proved Tom Riddle and Voldemort were the same, in the court gardens. The pages were blank until he stroked his fingers across the page, and they revealed themselves to him; hundreds of pages filled with the owner’s private recollections. “_They’ll believe us_,” Harry had been desperate to retrieve it again after he was forced to leave it behind when the guards came. “_They’ll know we’re telling the truth,_ _Hermione_\- “

  
The corridors of the palace were rife with intrigue, and the imperial city plagued with rumors. There was a group, they whispered, an Order led by those who stood against the King. They wanted a return to magic; a return to peace and following the old ways when witches and wizards were free to practice their craft and live as they wish. Harry thought they could come out of the shadows if they had proof that the King was Voldemort, that Tom Riddle and Voldemort were one and the same. "_We have to help them_,” he’d said. “_We have to help** everyone**, Hermione_. _This is about more than just us_. _It’s about Ron, and anyone who practices magic; anyone whose going to be torn from their homes_.”

  
  
She’d been lucky, in her third year, to find friends. Ron, who had an impulsive nature, and Harry who had a heart filled with gold. The others had taken to mockingly calling them the “Golden Trio,” as they took to protecting, and helping one another. Things had never been the same when Ron vanished, and Harry had become a man obsessed.

  
  
And Hermione -

  
  
She’d known, deep down, what he said was true. She’d always been the logical one of the group; the one who planned for every outcome and knew every written fact. Her heart knew, then, what her mind wouldn't admit to. Harry would fail. He wouldn't bring Ron back, nor would he help the Order, if they existed. And when he failed, she would fail with him; for she would never abandon a friend. “_This is folly, Harry!_”

  
  
No.

  
  
Her hands covered her ears, and she squeezed her eyes tight. She wouldn’t think of it, she wouldn’t hear his screams -

  
  
_nononono_ –

"No," She cried and gasped as she collided into something solid. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself looking at the bare chest of _someone_. “I’m sorry!”

  
  
Muscular arms wrapped about her shoulders, easily holding her steady. “Mhm, are you, doll?”

  
  
The husky voice sounded vaguely familiar; as she searched her memory. She'd last talked to a centaur, one that had shared the roots and wild vegetables he'd harvested, in exchange for one of the Pepper-Up potions she'd made. His fingers had lingered on hers as they traded, and her cheeks had flamed when he offered to pleasure her if she wished. She'd licked her lips and went to reply when Crookshanks had pawed at his hooves, before promptly lifting his leg up and spraying the centaur.

  
  
_That_ had gone over well.

  
  
"W-What?" Hermione blinked, tilting her head upward. Her whiskey-colored eyes met his rich, golden ones; his eyes dancing with amusement. “Of course, I am!”

  
  
“Tsk, tsk.”

  
  
His fingers skimmed the back of her neck, and she flinched as his nails pressed into her skin. “Have you forgotten your manners, little Hermione?” His warm breath caressed her face as he moved his head closer; resting his temple against hers. “Surely you wouldn’t have left me behind without leaving out dinner.” His lower lip curved into a pout. “Or have you?”

  
  
Her thoughts spun as she went to step back, and his arms tightened. “I don’t know- “

  
  
Oh, but she had a sinking feeling, as his words sank in.

  
  
“You do though, don’t you?” He cooed. His wild eyes glinted in the darkness, and she swallowed dryly. They were eyes that she knew, she realized. Eyes that she saw every morning, as her familiar pawed at her cheek, and meowed pitifully for breakfast.

  
  
“Crooks?” She started. “_Crookshanks Granger_, is that you?”

"About that," his fingers trailed down from her neck and caressed the outline of her spine through her charmed, dove gray robes. They felt light, fashioned out of cotton, but were charmed to keep the rain from soaking through, and the earth about her from staining it’s pretty pattern. “You should know better than to take in any helpless creature, Hermione.” She shivered as his lips caressed her name, a smug, taunting undertone to his words that made her cunt dampen. Her cheeks inflamed as she heard his low inhale, air whistling through his teeth as he tasted her arousal on his tongue.

Gods, but it had been terribly long since she'd taken another; ever since she'd slipped away to the forest and made her home there. The very swamp that surrounded her cabin was filled with wild creatures, ones that were more likely to harm her than fuck her. She darted her gaze away and shifted; pressing her thighs against each other.

  
  
“Excitable little thing, aren’t you?”

  
  
She knew that he was dangerous; magic crackling about them and cursed herself again for forgetting her wand._ Why_ had she done that? Unless - had he done something to make her leave it behind? Had he given her the book of poems -

  
  
“What are you?” She demanded, her eyes narrowing.

  
  
He chuckled and stepped back.

  
  
He towered over her, no longer the half-kneazle that could reach her knees if it stood on its back paws. He was well over six feet, yet had a wiry, nearly gaunt frame. He reminded her of the elves that she’d once seen; as they paraded through the kingdom, though he had a dangerous air more like the orcs that filled the King’s private guard. His skin was seemingly luminescent; as she traced her gaze over his features; noting the aristocratic shape of his nose, the razor-sharp canines that flashed when he spoke, and his tousled copper hair. It writhed as if it was on fire, and her fingers -

  
  
Her fingers longed to run themselves through it, yanking on the ends as he took her.

  
  
“An eldritch,” he slowly replied, a teasing note to his voice. “Surely you’ve met my kind before, little one.” They were the creatures in the night that snatched sleeping children from their beds, masqueraded as trees to scare couples snogging below, and reveled amongst humans in the daylight; taking whatever form they pleased. They lived to amuse themselves; feasting on the souls of others; their hopes, their fears, their very emotions were intoxicating to them. “You’re the brightest witch of our age,” he said, and her lip trembled at the reference to the life she’d had once; the nickname Harry had called her –

He wore robes like hers, his as dark and colorless as the night. They shifted aside, as tentacles slowly rose; and she realized that they were apart of him. They were numerous, some long and thick, while others were slightly smaller and girthier; and all dripped a tar-like substance. Leaves melted where the liquid fell; crumbling in on themselves, before going up in smoke. "We're a forgotten creature of old magic," he said, and it sounded almost as if he were telling the truth. "Poor old Crooks, no one wanted to play with him; no one wanted to be his friend. He had to steal away in the night, from an owner that hung him by his tail, and used him for target practice- “

  
  
Hermione shook her head. “I don’t believe you,” she said. Her recollection for the novels she’d read never failed her, even when she felt as she did then; that she couldn’t move and wanted to give in to her fear. She never would allow herself to.

She remembered the book she'd read; a faded, silk tome that had entranced her with its charcoal sketchings of the eldritch species. They weren't like the drawings in newer books; with creatures that thrashed, and famed people that moved, writing their own words across the page. It was a very old novel; one that had crumbled beneath her gentle fingers as she read, tracing each word as she went. Eldritch were never to be trusted, it'd said, nor believed. Her fingers curled inward, her nails cutting into the meat of her palm.

  
  
_Never trust their words; an eldritch lives only to deceive._

  
  
To **feast**.

  
  
"You've stayed as a cat - as my familiar for months," she reasoned and kept her wary eyes on him. He’d watched her change and laid on the rocks while she bathed in the stream (one that was a ways from her cabin) and ate bits of meat from her fingers. She’d spent more time with him than anyone; and he’d always seemed to understand her, nuzzling his cheek against hers when she said how lonely she was, and lying in her lap when she read aloud to him. He was with her even more than Harry or Ron had ever been, and didn’t make her as upset; though he had a knack for chasing away visiting centaurs, and dropped dead things at her feet, meowing at her when she buried them (and purred if she incorporated them into a potion; as she had when he brought her a handful of newts). She’d thought he was her familiar; the only one she’d ever had.

  
  
She felt an ache in her chest; as if it would be safe (or sane) to ask him to hold her. She’d let him in and wanted him there.

  
  
_Still_ -

  
  
“You were manipulating me- “ her curls flared with her anger, as she hissed the words.

  
  
“Giving you company, my sweet.”

  
  
“No,” Hermione’s voice rose. “You were lying to me - you’re lying now!” If he was what he said, a forgotten creature; a cursed creature by the old magic that still existed, in places throughout the land, surely, he would want to use her. “You’re not a cat, you’re not my friend- “

She flinched at the word and looked down at her wrist. Her heart skipped as she thought; for a hopeful moment that she was dreaming and would wake up with Crookshanks at the feet of her bed, idly playing with her toes as they moved beneath the covers. “Unless this is a dream?”

  
  
She knew it was foolish to think; when she felt her booted feet slipping lower into the damp soil, and heard crows cawing above them. Her dreams were always a mismatch of colors and sounds; never something as vibrant, as clear as this was. Her shoulders lowered, and she tugged on her bottom lip, feeling the skin shift beneath her teeth.

  
  
He moved forward; his eyes unwaveringly focused on hers. "So scared," he said softly and clicked his tongue. "Dreaming - awake - I'm here."

  
  
“You’re wrong,” she said, though a voice whispered he was right. He rested his fingers against her wrist, and slowly, slowly came closer until they were a breath away. “You won’t stay, you won’t have me- “  
She couldn't say she wasn't afraid, though she was becoming increasingly aware of a sharp ache between her legs; and dampness of her knickers. What was happening to her…?

  
  
“You sound so sure,” he purred, nuzzling her cheek with his. “So confident.”

  
  
They both knew she was a liar, as she sagged against him. Her hand was weak where it rested on his chest, her fingers feeling the silken fabric of his robes. She felt tentacles wrapping about her legs, pulling her closer, closer, closer -

  
  
“Oh Hermione,” she heard him murmur. “What am I to do with you?”

* * *

  
Far beneath the weeping willow, with its gnarled roots, and its great trunk where a young witch had rested her head, far beneath it all, was a curious cavern. It was a hollowed-out place in the ground; one where worms refused to burrow, and even centipedes wouldn't crawl. It was a dark space; a _secure_ place with its rocky, moist walls.

  
  
Tufts of moss grew along the floor and was sparse in its green shade; most of it coated thickly in crimson. There was no light; no hint of promise from the world above. Amongst the center of it all, was a writhing mass of tentacles; firmly wrapped about their mate.

  
  
“Silly, little one,” the tentacles unfurled to form the upper half of a human man while his lower torso remained a dark and thriving mass. It was closest to the creature’s true form; one that some regarded as daemonic, while others still painted his image on their temple walls and revered it in obedience. He held the woman in his arms and bent his head down to lick a hot stripe with his tongue across her neck. Unconsciously she rubbed herself against the thickest one of his tentacles, and he chuckled. Her body was longing for him; even in the sleep, he'd placed her in after she'd said she would stay with him. The foolish witch hadn't remembered to give promises lightly; especially ones to a pseudo familiar. His kind was bound to follow certain laws; verbal consent among them before they could take another as their mate. It mattered little that she said the words to Crookshanks, the wild half-kneazle that never left her side. She'd made the promise and given her consent; thereby allowing him to transform into his true figure and steal her away to his nest.

Their nest now, he thought smugly and ran his canines along his bottom lip. He felt saliva pooling in his mouth at the thought of taking her; and held himself back from rocking his hips against her. He wanted her to be awake when he fucked her; showing her just how pleasurable his tentacles and his greedy mouth could be. He'd slather his saliva on her; coating her in his scent, before grooming her cunt with his tongue. She'd awake sensitive and ready for him; pumped with his pheromone filled nectar for days beforehand. He'd take her as any of his species would; forcing her on her hands and knees, and filling her with his cock, and stretching her other hole with his tentacles. He would have her submit to him; feeling her writhe and cry beneath him, before knotting her; afterward tasting her sweet milk, kneading it out of her breasts with his hands, and making her lips swell beneath his kisses.

  
  
A smaller tentacle slipped to her mouth and tapped its tip against her lips. “So greedy for me,” he murmured, not without warmth. He’d been terribly hurt, cursed to exist in a weak, pathetic form before he’d found her. “Hermione.”

  
  
His lonely witch out in the swamp, surrounded by acres of forest without another welcoming soul. He’d half thought she’d skin him and have him for dinner (he snorted at the thought, though it’d been a possible reality at the time – _‘He, the eater of worlds!’_) but instead she’d treated him as a friend. A pet. No, a _familiar_. They'd naturally understood each other; as he purred and laid on her chest, and she rested her head against his fur and told him her dreams. Her fears. Her deepest desires.

  
  
And disturbingly, he’d found himself wanting to make them happen; even when she’d said she yearned for quail and was hopeless at hunting them. What had he done? He'd gone hunting through the day, while she'd buried her nose in a book, and dropped three dead quail at her feet. As he remembered her pearls of laughter and cataloged her smiles, and what she cried over, he'd realized he'd fallen for her. Her! His owner.

No, eldritch were owned by none and felt emotions of their own only for one. 

  
  
“Suck,” he said, as her lips parted, and the tentacle snaked its way into her mouth. He’d been determined to have her and keep her; knowing that she would have to undergo the change to stay with him. He wouldn’t be able to mate her or breed her in her current state; not when she was hopelessly fragile compared to him. He shuddered as he felt her warm tongue curl about his tip, and her teeth grazed his svelte skin. She was hungry for his nectar; a sweet, filmy substance that she would grow addicted to, as she fell into heat.

She lapped at his squirming tentacle, making shamelessly filthy suckling noises as she encouraged his nectar to come. It began dripping into the back of her throat; and she keened a happy, sweet sound. It would be the only thing she fed off while she was changing, and through the course of her heat; until she became filled with his young. Then she would feed as he did; feasting off the emotions of others, though she would mainly take from his own for her first year, with the vulnerable state she would be in. She would have a constant hunger; an ache in her throat and would stay attached to him, especially as her brood took more and more of her energy. Eldritch were parasitic in nature; mates thriving off one another, while their young took everything from their mother, even killing them in the process if their mate took ill care of them.

  
  
If he left her as she was, a human, she would be far too weak for them to mate; or carry his young. He wouldn’t be able to feed her as he wished, his paltry offerings as her familiar infuriating in comparison to what he could give her. He was known among his species; even as the loner that he was, his youth filled with brutal violence, and haunting fights for territory. He’d made Gaia his home and was glad to call the forest his own; ever since he’d caught Hermione’s scent, and found his way to her door.

  
  
Her change would allow for him to knot her and breed her; as well as have her understand his nature, and the mating call fully. He felt himself harden at the thought; and weaved one impatient tentacle about her waist, gathering her closer to him. She was his; in a way that none had ever been before, and none would ever be.

  
  
One of his tentacles traced the cute shape of her lips, as they were puckered about another, insistent tentacle; and her throat bobbed with her swallowing. He was painfully excited at how she needed him; his cock leaking pre-cum between his legs, while another tentacle wrapped about his cock; stroking his shaft with light, teasing touches, as he imagined she would stroke him. He leaned back his head and moaned. “Hermione…”

  
  
His kind mated only once, and when they did, it was for their endless life; thereafter their souls tied to another. He had little intention of spending only a handful of centuries with her; time slipping through his fingers without meaning before. Now, he wanted eons beside her; eons with her in his arms.

  
  
“Drink it all,” he purred, his chest vibrating with contentment. He wanted to feel her small body against his and listen to the slow beat of her heart; more than he’d wanted anything before. “And become who you were meant to be, Hermione.” He buried his face against her curls and inhaled the sweet, wonderous scent of her; the scent of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by NCUH, thank you! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Me: I wOnT uPdAtE uNtIl oCtObEr **
> 
> **ok but it was friday the thirteenth + a harvest moon though so ENJOY this smut-a-licious story! please read the tags, I just updated them! This is an explicit story, so :)**

Flames leaped and danced beneath her skin.

  
  
She writhed against the man; the beast and hissed as his hand palmed her breast. His nails sunk into her skin, sending a sharp tingle of pleasure through her. She felt her body as it changed; her strangled gasps for breath slowing, as she heard the man’s soft whispers, and his hand that cradled her head.

  
  
“Hermione,” he murmured, and her thoughts drew back - back, back, back - to him. Her eyes felt heavier than she could bear as she lay against him; and felt his fingers combing through her curls. He wouldn’t let her drift away, he said. He would stay with her; he promised.

  
  
“_Look at me_.”

  
  
She wanted to, she did.

  
  
He said to again, and she heard the insistent tone in his voice. She longed to obey him; her instincts whispering that she should, that he was safe and nice -

  
  
He would make the flames go away, the voices crooned, he would make everything stop hurting her. He was welcoming, and safe, and would make the hurt stay away, away, away.

  
  
“Open your eyes, little one,” she heard him call. “Look at me.” 

  
  
But she couldn’t, as she slid under; under the world, and out of his arms, into the flames below.

* * *

  
“Hermione,” he called.

  
  
_hermione - hermione -_

  
  
He pulled her up roughly; his hand gripped her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her head lolled, and she gagged on the writhing limb in her mouth; as it pooled sweetness inside of her mouth, another coaxed the outside of her throat with soothing caresses, forcing her to relax enough to swallow. The taste wasn’t unpleasant; reminding her of a berry-like juice, one that she made during the springtime, and sweetened with honey from wild beehives that she found.

  
  
And then they were gone; the limbs pulled away, and her mouth left open. She twisted in his hold and whined. Her skin was clammy, and her stomach -

  
  
Her chest -

  
  
She felt empty, her insides turning on each other. Her stomach squeezed itself; her muscles rippling, and she moaned in pain. Something was happening to her; her mind reasoned, and she wanted it to be over -

  
  
She tried to protest but couldn’t; her lips unwilling to form words.

  
  
She wanted it to end.

  
  
She forced her eyes open, as they stared into another’s. His rich, golden irises held galaxies; as stars burst, planets came to an end, and stardust covered the atmosphere. She could look forever, and ache to see more; as he clicked his tongue and turned her head to the side.

  
  
_entranced - entrenched - an **eldritch** curse _

  
  
Her body burned again, and she keened when something cool caressed below her waist. It felt like countless hands were upon her; caressing and petting her hair, her breasts, and her weeping cunt. Every part of her; even her fingers were touched and made to move; as he sheltered her beneath him and crooned sweet nothings into her ear. She understood the primal noises; the hisses and thickly uttered coos.

  
  
‘_I’ll protect you_.’

  
  
But there was only one thing that she wanted, as she coughed again; tar splattered across her chest. “Please,” she gasped. “More- “ she craved it, with every fiber of her being; as she squirmed against him and tried to grasp the tentacle again. No -

  
  
she _needed_ it.

  
  
He chuckled darkly and swiped his thumb beneath her lip. “Don’t waste a drop, little one,” he chided. “You need to drink it all.”

  
  
She tipped her head back and nuzzled against his calloused palm with her cheek. There was something off; something not right, that she needed to know -

  
  
to **figure out**, as she tried to grasp the thoughts floating away from her. “W-Why,” she asked, and growled as she went to say more; but found her lips refusing to move. Her body wasn’t her own, as she felt the fire burn inside of her veins; overtaking everything in its way.

  
  
“Ever curious,” he whispered and laid his fingers across her eyelids. “It’ll help you, as nothing else can.” It would make the fire go away; the pain, a voice added, and she felt herself going under again.

  
  
Under it all.

  
  
She nodded her head eagerly. She would do anything to taste him again; her throat coated in his nectar-like release. Her heartbeat erratically echoed;

_thump - thump thump - thump thump_ \- _thump_

  
  
“I’ll be so, so good,” she promised, keening as the tentacle slipped between her open lips. Her tongue ran across the silky length of it, feeling as it rippled beneath. The air filled with the sound of her indecorous suckling; and his low, fevered grunts of pleasure.

* * *

  
He was in paradise.

  
  
His little one’s body had been steadily changing; her breasts growing heavier, her cunt slick with arousal, and he felt the pricks of her sharpening canines against his writhing tentacle. He was pumping her full of nutrients; and she pawed at his tentacle as if she were a kitten, her small hands stroking the thicker end. She was yielding and pliant beneath him; and he knew that he could break her if he wanted, snapping her bones beneath his hand as if she were made from clay. 

  
  
And she was when compared to him.

  
  
His hands combed through her hair, unwinding her snarled curls. He would be pleased, he decided, if their offspring bore her wild curls, ones that he would never _allow_ her to defile. She would stay the same as she was; beautiful and true to herself, the change not touching her honeyed eyes, or beautiful curls. He wanted her to remain human-like; as he had known her and kneaded the back of her neck with his fingers. She was his, and he wanted all of her.

  
  
He inhaled her heady, pheromone filled scent and sighed against her shoulder. Slick was dripping steadily from her cunt; and he licked her naked skin, tasting beads of sweat on his tongue. He was hard against her thigh and wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside of her and soak her channel with his seed.

  
  
He had seen her fight once; a wisp mother haunting the swamp, and her mate had been a hellion with sharp claws. Magic crackled in the very air when she was deadly focused or seething with rage, and she wielded her wand with precise yet passionate focus. She was a worthy mate of his; he’d surmised as he’d watched her from the window, hurling hex after hex at the intruding creature. She would lay her life down for those she believed in; and he knew she would do the same for their children, unlike the eldritch females that tended to abandon their clutches after they emerged. Theirs was a parasitic species; the females devouring males after breeding, or allowed them to stay throughout their pregnancy, and mate them until their clutch emerged, and they stayed with them. The females would then turn on their mates; devouring them to regain their strength and would find a new mate the next breeding season. Hermione would be - she was different, he knew; just as he was for wanting to stay with his clutch. His mate would care for them and stay.

  
  
Perhaps she would stay too, for him. 

  
  
He sank further from his thoughts as he felt her sopping cunt rub against his cock; and tried to entangle her legs about two thick tendrils that emanated from the core of his body. The need to breed was strong; as his honeyed poison seeped through her veins. He felt his own canines lengthen at the thought of her filled with his young; her stomach round with her full womb, and cute pants of need for him.

  
  
Eldritch tended to breed with other than their kind; their females’ tendency to decapitate and ingest her mate after breeding a substantial drawback. His kind was known to take strong, sentient species; orcs, merfolk, and daemon-like creatures among them, ones that shared their innate predator instincts, without the ability to overpower their Eldritch mate. He lapped at the witch’s collarbone, before running his teeth across it; tasting sweet blood on his tongue. Humans were less chosen as mates; their fragile bodies considered unsuitable, and morals unappealing to his kind.

  
  
Yet how **wrong** Eldritch were, he thought, not to choose them.

  
  
Milk flowed from her breasts, and he lapped at them; rolling his long tongue over her nipples and filled his mouth with her sweet taste. He groaned at the thought of her nursing their young; she would surely have more than two her first clutch, and he would place them on her breast while stroking her temple and cooing what a good mother she was. He would lift them, as they snarled, from her breast; before placing another sibling in their place. After they’d each taken from her, he would lay beside her; soothing their pecks and rough tugging at her nipples with his own mouth; covering her with gentle kisses, and a thick coating of his saliva.

  
  
He chuckled as she squirmed against him, and insistent, breathy noises escaped her lips. His tentacles wrapped themselves around her arms and her legs; helping her arms to wrap about his shoulders, and her legs to part wide. More wrapped about her swollen breasts, while his special one stayed lodged inside her greedy mouth; as she suckled from its spurting tip.

  
  
He rocked his hips against hers; teasing her as he rubbed his cock against her wet cunt. With her rapidly changing, he would be able to fuck her relentlessly; his cock, and his knot claiming her cunt as his. He bent his head to her neck and licked her virgin gland with his tongue. Fucking her would help with her change; as his scent soaked into her skin, and he imprinted himself on her. It would be less confusing as she awoke; her instincts clinging to him as her sire, and mate. He swallowed drool at the thought of marking her; and licked along her jawline instead, rolling thick wads of saliva on her skin.

  
  
_‘p-please’_

  
  
He heard her thoughts as if they were his own; and made soft, clicking noises at her. Telepathy was a feature of his species; something mates utilized or used to their advantage while hunting their prey. “Do you need me, little one?” he asked, sucking on her bottom lip.

  
  
He felt her lust tinged with desperation; as her cunt continued to drip with slick in shameless invitation. If others had surrounded them; whether feathered, scaled, or with human skin, he would have forced her to her hands and knees and mounted her; imprinting himself inside of her. He would awaken her need for his touch, and her lust for his cock; the same as he would revel in the feel of her. He hardened at the thoughts of others seeing her forced to the ground, desperate with lust from his cock ravaging her cunt; while his hands kneaded her breasts, and his canines sunk into her mating gland.

  
  
He would slaughter the others after he fucked her; feasting on their fear, and their voyeuristic desire. He would never have another want her; never have another fantasize about her. She would know that he was ruled by his jealousy, his rage; and would roll about in his cum and watch him with hazy eyes as he slaughtered those about them; before looming over her, wanting to ravage her again. And she would welcome him into her arms; into her bed without end.

  
  
He would make her happy if he could.

  
  
He tilted his head and pretended to think about his next words as if he couldn’t smell the panic rolling off her in waves. She needed him; her body shaking as she progressed in her change. “Do you want to be stuffed with my cock?” As if she had a choice.

  
  
_don’t make me b-beg - **liar** -_

  
  
“Ah, ah,” he chided his tongue in mock severity. “I can give you what you need, if you ask nicely, Hermione.” He eased his girthy tip inside of her cunt, feeling her walls clench about the intrusion. She did need to be filled; her instincts making her desperate for it, as the change reached its peak. “What you want more than anything, hm?”

  
  
He felt her presence in his mind flare; before weakening as she keened beneath him. She was so, so small beneath him; as he fully had her underneath his large frame, and effortlessly stretched her with his tentacles. He could mercilessly force her to milk his cock with her mouth if he wished, and she would. Her body needed his release; and it mattered not if she had her own, or if he claimed her cunt before he took her other, taut hole or knotted her mouth as she begged for more.

  
  
Fortunate then, that he felt merciful.

  
  
He plunged his cock inside of her and heard her squeal as he filled her. He set a brutal pace; forcing his cock inside of the whole of her, before withdrawing; leaving her cunt desperately grasping about _nothing_.

  
  
She surprised him by shifting her legs, as he loosened his hold, to wrap about his hips; and pressed her heels against his lower back. He allowed her to do so; his thicker tentacles winding behind her back and keeping her safe from the ground beneath them. She tipped her head back, and moaned, beads of saliva dripping down her chin.

  
  
_deeper, deeper_-

  
  
She begged, and he angled himself further into her; driving his hips against hers.

  
  
She shrieked as he placed her on her hands and knees, and covered her shaking frame with his. His tentacles forced her to stay still; tightening about her crooked legs, as she tried to squirm. She was his to fuck, and his to breed, and he grasped the side of her neck with his mouth; his canines piercing her skin. She stilled as he held her there; making sharp clicks and low trills.

  
  
“Stay,” he hissed, before licking at her skin with his tongue.

  
  
His thrusts grew sloppy as he felt her warm, dripping cunt welcome him. Slick was pouring down her thighs; and well-lubed the inside of her cunt, allowing him to have her without restraint. He could have all of her holes if he wished; and his tentacles moved in tandem with each other, one pumping his poison into her, while the ones at her breast squeezed and plucked at her nipples, making milk roll down her abdomen. The tentacles that held her limbs teased her skin; their ends sucking on her skin, while another moved to caress her tight hole. It probed curiously about her entrance before slipping inside; slowly beginning to stretch her hole about it. They both cried in pleasure; Hermione and her eldritch feeling the same sensations as the other.

  
  
He’d never known the paradise that he found in her, and he felt himself aching with need for her. He wanted to taste all of her; her ecstasy, her fear, her unbridled release as it gushed from her. And her sweetness; her love, as he had when she’d stroked him from his curled ears to his tufted tail, and read to him from her beloved, muggle books.

  
He wanted all of her.

  
  
His tentacles reacted to his thoughts; gathering her closer against him. His cock strained as his ecstasy grew; feeling heavy inside of her. He groaned against her neck as he burrowed himself completely inside of her, stilling as he felt her cunt cling about his shaft. He felt the telling flutter of her folds and knew she wanted to cum.

  
  
“Not yet, witch,” he told her, peppering kisses over her cheeks, and over the bridge of her nose. Her skin was honey and gold against his luminescent skin; as vibrant with life as he was with death. He had never taken another; never wanted to breed or take a mate, as he encased himself in the natural world; feasting off humans. What mattered about her, the little, lonely witch? What made her special?

Her soul.

  
  
Her emotions tasted like everything he loved as they rolled across his tongue. Her drugged fear - her pain from his size, and his roughness - and her ecstasy, her excitement, at how he claimed her made his eyes roll back and a guttural moan escaped his lips. She was his ambrosia; his teasing paradise.

  
  
The tentacle that writhed inside of her anus was joined by another, forcing her taut hole to widen about it. She gasped at the feeling; the tentacles feeling his cock through the thin wall separating her parts. She squirmed at the tight, almost painful sensation. His tentacles released inky, black liquid inside of her anus; allowing them to plunge further inside her. They thickened the further they buried inside her; filling her to the brim.

  
  
She couldn’t escape his tentacles, nor his cock as they moved her back and forth between them. She was helpless to overpower him; nor did she want to, as she cried in pleasure. She wanted to weep at the feeling, her nerves alight with ecstasy as he thoroughly fucked her. She couldn’t think of anything but him; and the feel of his limbs as he buried all of himself inside her.

  
  
His knot swelled inside of her as he thrust in and out; feeling her buck beneath him as he touched her cervix. She ground back against him; her cunt desperate for his knot to plug her; keeping his fertile seed inside of her. He roared as he came within her, semen spurting in thick ropes from his cock, and her cunt was soaked in it.

  
  
His balls laid heavy against the outside of her cunt; as his knot forced him to stay locked within her. His cock, too, had sharp barbs on the end of it; allowing it to cling between her folds if she went to unseat him. “My precious witch,” he cooed and fondled her virgin gland between his teeth. He wouldn’t mark her until she was awake; allowing her to do the same, yet it was tempting to ravage her then; tearing her emerging gland apart.

  
  
His tentacles held her up as she went slack beneath him; small trembles racking her body. Cheeky tentacles moved to her clit; sucking and teasing her tender bundle of nerves, while others continued to coax milk from her nipples. He continued to rock his hips against hers; ignoring her whined protests and shushed her gently. He needed her to cum in tandem with him; semen continuing to leak from his cock, as his knot kept the fertile release inside her. His instincts knew it would ensure pregnancy; if he wanted to breed her.

  
  
And he fervently did.

  
  
There were others of his kind that used their mates as solely breeding partners; forcing them to bear their clutches in an endless cycle. Their mate, usually a weaker species, would thrive under the ceaseless pleasure of being fucked; and raising their offspring. Yet he wanted more from his mate, his chosen one; as his cells coursed through her veins and made her the same as he was. He’d known, as her pseudo-familiar, that he wasn’t going to let her go.

  
  
Nor would he treat her as the others; keeping her entranced by his deadlights, and her thoughts never her own. She would be the Hermione that he knew; the witch that had fascinated him, and the mate that he wanted to keep at his side. She would never know another; nor would she know death, as he tied her life span to his immortal one. He would treasure her, his little witch, and their children.

  
  
“Cum, Hermione,” he whispered and massaged her abdomen with his warm hand. He felt his cock as it protruded inside of her; and murmured encouraging words in her ear. He knew that she had never had another like him; one that was making her body his own. He kissed her eyelids and gave her more of his nectar; his obedient tentacle sending spurts down her greedy throat. Soon, they were coming together again; their cries filling the nest, their home away from home.

When it was safe -

  
  
When she was _whole _again, he would take her back where everything began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by NCUH! 🦝🖤


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 🖤
> 
> If you have any kink suggestions or chapter ideas, let me know! I'm open to them. :) I appreciate every comment, kudos, and bookmark, it means so much! I love hearing from every reader and hope to upload more.

“Crooks, _no_!”

  
  
It was a phrase the eldritch turned pseudo-familiar heard often enough. He smirked, his tail twitching as he jumped from the windowsill to the floor; in one, fluid leap with dried herbs scattering about him. He had adapted well to his feline body; the months he had spent as a half-kneazle, not by choice.

  
  
Oh, it had been, at _first_, when he’d decided to befriend a wizened hermit. He’d smelled the rotting death at his door and wanted a taste of his delicious fear, up close; as the hermit knew that Death was near. He’d taken the form of his previous familiar, and made his way to the hermit’s door, meowing brokenly.

  
  
How was he to know that the hermit was his **friend**, Maturin?

  
  
The horrid creature had lured him into his lair and pierced him in his abdomen with a golden arrow. Pennywise had fled; the birds scattering overhead as he crashed through the forest. He'd left thick wads of blackened tar on the dense flora and painted the underbrush with droplets of saliva. A horrific fire had raced through his veins; burning, as he panted and ran.

  
  
And then he’d found her; his pretty, pretty girl.

  
  
He’d found her cabin and thrown himself against it; protective wards rippling about him. He could have torn them down and devoured her if he wished; tasting the flickers of fear from the woman inside. He could have done many brutal, languorous things to heal himself; if she hadn’t opened the door and shown that she cared. He’d heard whispers about her; from the crows that leered overhead, and the creatures that lived in the underbrush of the witch who took lost souls in, and helped them find their way in the harsh forest.

  
  
Hermione’s heart, he learned, was a golden ball he could flick between his paws; the same as that of yarn. She’d swished her wand over him, casting a symphony of spells. She hadn’t known what he was; his form holding true. He yowled when she eased the arrow from him, dark blood spurting from his abdomen. Really, he should have expected that Maturin would try to entice him in, using his hunting grounds against him. The oversized turtle had been his adversary for centuries; hacking and clawing away at each other, though it’d been far, far too long since their last encounter.

  
  
He should have _known_ Maturin couldn’t stay away from him.

  
  
She’d stroked her fingers against his collar, and whispered encouragement, before moving him to lay near the crackling fire. Smoke piped through a hole in the ceiling above them; the thatched roof seemingly impervious to sparks. He watched through half-lidded eyes as she rummaged through her bag, before finding a jar of ointment. She opened it and dipped her fingers into the dark substance; covering her fingers thickly with it and rubbed it into his side. He snarled, his ears pinning back against his head.

  
  
"I know," she said and patted him with her free hand. He relaxed under her touch; his breath coming in short pants as the stinging pain flared, before stilling. His side was numb; his fur saturated in the vile substance.

  
  
The witch laid beside him, her warm eyes searching his.

  
  
“Where did you come from?” She asked, stroking her fingers against his ears. “I’ve never seen kneazles in the forest before. Did someone abandon you?” A fleeting frown touched her lips, and he looked back at her with sad, dull eyes. She’d heard of mages abandoning creatures that failed to take as their familiar; though she’d never believed in the barbaric practice herself. It wasn’t right to abandon a creature; one that just wanted to live, as any of them did. “They did, didn’t they?”

  
  
Tentatively, he rubbed his head against her chest.

  
  
She giggled, and his ears perked at the sound. Her amusement - no, her _joy_, bubbled across his serpentine tongue that he was careful to keep inside his mouth. "You can stay here if you'd like." She rested her hand against his neck, her touch comforting. "I'll take care of you."

  
  
The little witch, he knew, wasn’t telling the entire truth.

  
  
She yawned, her lips parting.

  
  
"I've been here a while," she said, her eyelids weighing. Outside the crested moon hung high in the sky, and cicadas wailed from the trees. "Alone." She cuddled against the kneazle, and he basked in her warmth; as well as her floral scent that teased his hunger. "It's lonely," she admitted, "and scary sometimes."

  
  
She’d always believed that two, or three was better than one.

  
  
“You’ll stay, won’t you?” She asked. “I’d like it if you did.”

  
  
He meowed, as if in agreement, and felt her smile against his fur. “My name is Hermione,” she said, before hesitating. “And you?” There was a formalness to the way she spoke, a stiltedness amongst the friendly way she embraced him. “I could call you Crookshanks,” she mused, remembering the book she’d just read, of a feared creature who ravaged the sea. There was something wild about the kneazle-like creature, a tangible quality that swelled between her arms. “Crooks for short, since the name is a bit of a mouthful.”

  
  
It tasted right on her tongue, and she felt a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest.

  
  
Yes, she thought, the name fit.

  
  
And the eldritch found that he liked the name, as often as he heard it. Really, his nature wasn’t _too_ different from a kneazle; as he made the swamp and the surrounding forest his home. He was independent; entertaining himself by catching minks and swallowtails, amusing himself by dropping them in his witch's bed. He'd snicker as he heard her scream until he found that she liked it better when he brought her salamanders (useful, in gag-worthy smelling potions) and rabbits, delivering them to her door, and tasted her appreciation. It danced on his tongue, and fizzled along his gums; a pleasant, if strange feeling. There was nothing that he adored more than something new.

  
  
It appealed to his eldritch nature, the enticement of something unknown, something to discover and taste. He was quickly finding that he liked Hermione’s emotions; her joy and curiosity, her bubbling anger, and terrifying loneliness like nothing he'd had before. He found he liked the last the least of all and would press against her legs; winding his tail about her shin and meowing loudly, no matter where she was, or what she was doing. He could break her from her thoughts, and bring her back to _him_. She started calling him her familiar; so attuned to her moods, knowing _just_ what to do.

  
  
“You aren’t a normal kneazle, are you?” She said. “Though I think you’re half-kneazle, you’d be larger if you were a full one.” He’d sniffed at that and held his head high. He’d taken an easy form; and was larger than most of the prey he hunted, especially the rabbits that were skinned and bubbling in her cauldron for soup later. She’d laughed and coaxed him back into her lap, scratching behind his ears. He liked her hands on him; the feel of her fingers combing through his thick fur like nothing he’d known before.

  
  
Too weak to leave her at first, he’d stayed with her for the first fortnight, luxuriating as she spooned broth into his mouth, and coated his side in the foul-smelling ointment that he detested. His witch, as he soon came to think of her, easily became wrapped up in her ‘causes’, as the assortment of critters that made their way to her door soon proved. She untangled frogs from her fishing line, and helped a raven with an injured wing, though it didn’t stay long after she’d caught him trying to munch on its tail feathers. Her emotions were deliciously volatile; the witch never feeling anything by halves. She felt with her entire self, and he gorged himself on her emotions; her irritation dancing on his tongue, while her contentment rolled down his throat and soothed his stomach like a thick wad of honey.

  
  
He soon found himself strengthening; though the arrow that Maturin had pierced him with prevented him from changing back. That was a nasty surprise, as he’d found himself unable to change form as he pleased. He’d awoken one night, and heard his witch making the cutest noises, and soon smelled her desire in the air. He’d wanted to pin her beneath him and cover her neck and her chest in kisses but had only succeeded in falling off the windowsill and yowling as he went. Hermione had flung the covers off and grabbed her wand in alarm - that had been a sight, her in her silk nightgown, with her curls flaring about her as she’d looked for the intruder, all while he’d sulked at her feet. She’d scolded him thoroughly, after seeing his guilty look, and had stormed back to bed in a huff. He hadn’t tried to transform again for weeks, despite her masturbating several times after that (he’d hid beneath her bed and chewed angrily on his tail).

  
  
Surely, Maturin had thought in his weakened state, he would have been devoured in the forest by some passing animal, or foraging wizard. He’d been as weak as any kneazle kitten, but the oversized turtle wouldn’t have expected the witch’s intervention. Pennywise smirked at the thought, as he surfaced above the murky water. He'd slowly regained his ability to shift; initially, his kneazle form becoming bulkier, and truer to a full kneazle, instead of a half. After that, he'd tentatively tried shifting while hunting in the forest and exploring the swamp around the witch’s home. He’d been confined to pieces of his body at first - his furred tail had become that of a scorpion’s with a stinger on the end, his head turning to that of a barn owl, and so on. He’d been careful to keep his attempts at transformations from Hermione, never attempting to change when she was in view. As far as she knew, he was a half kneazle, albeit one that had gone through a growth spurt.

  
  
Having the mangy creature at her side wasn’t something she feared, he knew. She felt safer with him about; especially at night when the silence was deafening, and nothing stirred. Those were the times she held him the tightest and buried her face against his shoulder. She knew as well as he did of the fearsome creatures in the forest; ones with Medusa-like talents for turning their victims into stone, and others that sought to devour their prey, limb by limb, keeping them alive through stasis. The forest was a haven for magical creatures, and witches and wizards, but it wasn’t a safe one, not by far.

  
  
Pennywise lunged from the water and caught a leaping fish in the air. His canines sunk into its gills, and blood sprayed into his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He landed on his feet, his paws sinking into the damp moss as he hacked on the fish in his mouth. As his strength grew, he began to devour more things in the forest; instead of relying on Hermione to provide food for both of them (aside from his nightly bowl of cream). He purred at the fish’s fear, as it struggled; flapping its tail against his furred chin, before going limp. The creatures he ate; salamanders, frogs, small birds and fish, even a turtle or two (out of spite for Maturin) all felt fear as he toyed with them, prolonging the snap of his jaws that would kill them. Yet nothing compared to the larger, more sentient prey that he craved.

  
  
Humans - _children_, if he could.

  
  
Though the forest was teeming with life, mages were apt at hiding themselves away. Hermione’s home was heavily warded, and disillusioned against the odd trespasser, though as the flirtatious centaur proved, not impossible to penetrate. He’d found the centaur later, tracking him through the forest, until the man had made camp at night. Then he’d ripped his throat to shreds, salivating at the fear the man had exuded; as he kicked his hooves, and screamed into the midnight air. His blood, his fear, was ambrosia on his tongue; and Pennywise longed for larger, more emotional game.

  
  
The smaller creatures that he devoured weren’t enough to truly satiate him, merely soothing the ache in his throat. It continually ached; and drool leaked from his gums, reminding him of his constant hunger. It wasn’t enough as he dragged squirrels through the water, ripping them apart with his teeth, and holding them against his mouth with his paws. There were mice that he threw in the air and caught in his mouth; and birds that he climbed the trees after, though he wasn’t fond of the taste of their beaks. It was enough to keep him from starving, but without Hermione, he would never have thrived.

  
  
Disturbingly he found that the witch he lived with, was less than appetizing, at least in _that_ way. As his powers returned, and he regained his strength, he found that he could enter her dreams; though he was mindful not to use his true face. Instead, he assumed the faces of those she dreamed about; a man with soulless eyes and a gentle tone, another with flaming hair and a laugh that made her heart beat faster, while occasionally he took the form of a man with dark, curly hair and a scar on his temple. He spun her dreams into erotic, sensual fantasies that made them both awaken gasping, and clawing at the sheets (after she’d allowed him - _well_, his kneazle form, to return to sleep at the foot of her bed).

  
  
There were nights too when she dreamed of being fucked by a werewolf; one that forced her to her knees, and relentlessly mounted her. She would grow with his pups; and he would milk her breasts with his paws, teasing her dark nipples with his claws. Other times he took the form of a centaur, or bull, or even one of the towering orcs that she’d once met; any figure that was commanding, and that made her wet. She longed to be dominated and forced beneath him while he fucked her; all while he whispered that she was his. There were desires he played on; instinctively knowing what she wanted. His witch craved the feeling of being needed, of being wanted for herself. These were the dreams that she longed to be her reality; independent as she was, she wanted to be dominated and bred, all while tucked into her mate’s arms.

  
  
He watched as she woke up each morning, gasping and reaching for her wand; swishing it over the soaked sheets, and her longing for her dreams to be real, hardened. She said nothing to him, the familiar that watched her with knowing eyes, but shook her head and buried her nose into a well-worn book. He grew high off smelling her desire in the air; tasting the sweet aroma of her wetness on his furled tongue. It increased when she had her courses; the rags that lined her knickers soaked with blood and remnants of her desire. She was fertile and soft, all while being intelligent and ferocious with her magic; her body crying out to be adored and bred.

  
  
And he could give her that; he decided.

  
  
It wasn’t that he was going soft, as he’d shakenly thought when he'd eyed her throat and shuddered at the thought of tearing through it. No, she was his witch; his _mate_.

  
  
It'd been a startling revelation, one that had made his fur puff out, and his ears flatten. Mating normally meant death for the males of his species; as keen as the females were on using and abusing their mates. It was a given, considering their parasitic and opportune nature, but distressing, nonetheless. He was fond of his life; teasing the creatures of the forest, and before his run-in with Maturin, he'd enjoyed taunting the villages he found with terror. He’d feasted on rural villages; slaughtering children in their beds and leaving behind grieving adults in his wake. There were a plethora of villages along the countryside, and larger crowds of people as he neared the capital. He was the one that haunted children at night and walked among man during the day; the masked Aurors never knowing the one they sought was beside them. His form was impossible to know and his true face his own; none of them knowing him.

  
  
No, he had no reason to wither; no inclination to give up on life for the sake of offspring, and a mate. He wanted the life that he had, without death; and hadn’t expected to find a mate, especially one not of his kind. But his Hermione was different, he’d decided; no, he’d known that she was meant to be his, and he was hers.

  
  
She was a kind soul, one that let him sit in her lap, and place his giant paws on her shoulders; before rubbing his head against her chin. A smarter witch would have never opened the door; or would have boiled him in her cauldron, while saving his sharp claws for a useful potion. But she hadn’t - she’d let him into her home and taken care of him; before he’d wanted to take care of her. She felt affection for him; anxiously glancing out the window or whistling from her open-door when he was late to return from hunting or helping her forage. She’d even told him that she loved him; though he admitted, he’d been in kneazle form and playing with a ball of yarn. She was his mate, and he would have her; turning her into one of his kind and fostering her dependence on him.

  
  
Without the mutilation.

  
  
And so, he’d begun to plan, spinning elaborate fantasies for her, and cuddling against her side at night. He’d increased his foraging and bringing her prey; proudly waiting for him to praise him and give him a scratch under the chin. He knew then why he hadn’t liked the thought of her feeding him; as he _wanted_ to take care of _her_. He found his old nest, a cavern he’d made that was tucked beneath the virgin ground, and began to strengthen it; padding it with thicker layers of moss, and strengthening the wards with his own bit of blood; ensuring the loyalty of the soil to keep others away. She would need time to transform, and he would need a secure place to fuck her through it; giving her the nutrients, and strength that she needed to complete it. He began hunting more, too, increasing the prey that he devoured, all while keeping a watchful eye out for Maturin.

  
  
Though, with any luck, the fool would think he was dead.

  
  
The night before his plan came to fruition, he lay on her lap, while she read a book in bed. The fire crackled low in the chilly room; fighting against the howling wind, and the drizzling rain. He would steal her away when midnight came, carrying her to his nest, all while luring her into sleep by entering her dreams. This time it would be in his true form, and he’d allow her to see his face, and hear his devotion as he caressed her name with his tongue. Pennywise purred at the thought, kneading the warm lap beneath him.

  
  
“Good boy, Crooks,” his witch said, without lifting her eyes from the page. “You're always sweet," she laughed then and pursed her lips. "Most of the time." He did love to steal herbs from her stores, including a bit of catnip; as she’d found him with blown irises, rolling about her bed, with the herb all over him.

  
  
He glared at her before rubbing his head against her hand and pushed her book with his head. He always liked her attention to be on him; though there were times he jumped on her shoulder and wrapped himself about her neck as if he wanted to read the pages with her.

“So insistent- “he meowed loudly at that.

She set her book aside and let him climb further up her chest; and laid his head against her shoulder. His weight forced her to lean back against the pillows, and she wrapped her arms about his large frame.

  
  
“You’re my best friend,” Hermione murmured wistfully, and he nuzzled his face against her pulse. Her heart was steady beneath his touch, and he longed for the coming day when it would beat the same as his.

  
  
‘_And you’re my only friend, little witch_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by NCUH! 🦝🖤


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> It's been a minute. Or two, or three, or four! 💧💧
> 
> I meant to continually update Hollow Moon throughout October and was touched by the comments I'd received on earlier chapters. Everyone was (and is) so, *so* sweet. My life fell apart a bit - I opened up in an author's note on my story, Curious Girl, about the effect depression was having on me, as well as some family emergencies that happened days after the month started. ;; 
> 
> Since I opened up about things, life is starting to improve - I'm now on increased thyroid medication (my doctor believes my low thyroid levels may be causing my depression), our cat is healing from his abscess, and though the family emergencies haven't been resolved yet, I'm glad to have writing in my life. It's a passion of mine - actually, no, it's the main focus/passion, and has helped immensely with this month, and our bad luck! 
> 
> This chapter may not be what you were expecting, I had it in mind to explore Hermione's past relationship with Tom, and may have gotten carried away 🐍🖤 Hollow Moon *is* Pennywise/Crookshanks x Hermione, but who can resist a side of tomione? (...not me, I'm weak for tomione, lmao)
> 
> Just to make it clear, this chapter (until the ending paragraph) is a flashback! Tom won't make an appearance where it's the present time - at least for now. My tomione centric stories are Little Grace and Curious Girl 💜 Thank you for all the wonderful comments, follows, and for simply reading my work - it means the world to me.

The candles burned low around the room, their smoky light giving the rich tapestries an eerie glow. There were monuments to the kingdom’s history, interwoven with fate. The rising sun, the full moon, the shining star, and the falling tower, as well as death, were all symbols that permeated the room; emblazoned not only on tapestries, but in threaded into the sheets, and into the very grain of the ebony wood.

  
  
Yet the symbols were intrinsically entwined, not only with the room but the occupant of it himself, while fate pulled at his companion. It weaved about her naked shoulders and curled about her neck as if it were a snake; one given to humanity’s rules. The woman knew her master was not one for silence, not with her. They often filled the room with discourses of magical theory, and the kingdom’s history; both of them earnest academics, and as brilliant as one another.

  
  
Other times it was their bodies that spoke for them, as he buried himself in her sweetness, and she grasped at his shoulders, pulling him close as if he were a lover, and not her owner. The bedroom would be filled with the sound of flesh against naked flesh then, with no room for silence between them. The woman knew that as fond as the ruler was of silence during an execution, he wanted no silence from her, nor between them. No, he stroked her skin and made her want to spill everything that she had, everything she’d ever thought or felt as if he were the only one that she had.

  
  
A lover, a friend, someone who would never let go of her - it was this impression he wanted to lure her into, the same as a predator that toyed with its prey, lulling them into the safety of their talons. She knew this as she knew her appearance in the mirror, and promised herself that she would never forget it.

  
  
She couldn’t, not if she wanted to keep her heart and her soul as her own.

  
  
“The splendor falls on castle walls, and snowy summits old in story;” Hermione traced her fingers across the gilded words, the vellum paper exquisitely soft beneath her touch. “The long light shakes across the lake, and the wild cataract leaps in glory.”

“Continue,” Tom said as if it were a suggestion and not a command that she couldn’t refuse. There wasn’t among the court who would refuse him, not even proud Lucius Malfoy, who’d_ Crucio’d_ his own son when he’d coldly asked him to. It was the order of the court to follow his whims and his iron will, the only order that they knew.

“Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,” she hesitated on the next set of words, though she knew the poem by traitorous heart. She’d read it often enough, as she lay in her bed, and read beneath the covers with a flickering blue flame beside her for light. If she closed her eyes, she could see the words, and shadows cast upon them; her voice lilting and pretty as she said the words by rote. “Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.”

His lip curved upward at her emphasis on the word, as she recited the poem how he’d taught her. His hands held her waist still, his forefingers and thumbs digging into her sides as she quivered. “Do you think me cruel, Hermione?” he asked lowly, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “Am I not the lover you dreamed of, drawing you near with soft words, and endearing promises?”

He was taunting her, in the way that he knew best, akin to a child tugging on her curls. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, as she kept from sharply retorting, or worse, laughing at his question. Neither would have found favor with him, and she knew the scowl that would mar his aristocratic features was one she had no longing to see.

He didn’t laugh, he never did.

She’d watched him during the court revelries, and realized that no matter how the fools juggled, and sashed pies in their faces, or the delight that the courtiers gleaned from double entendre, their ruler would never feel the same. No, Hermione thought, there was nothing in him that allowed for humor. At times it seemed as if there was nothing in him at all, his ambition filling his insides until there was room for little else. He was less than human, yet more than all of them, and what they could be.

“Your Grace -“ she began, her magic cocooning her in warning. She knew that she was always on the slippery edge with him, her faux lover, her magnificent teacher. He would curl his hands around her neck, the same as he would invite her to read to him, without skipping a breath. She knew this.

She knew him.

And still, she found herself begging for his touch, aching for him as she’d never had for anyone or anything before.

“Spare me the pleasantries,” he murmured, and she bit her bottom lip as he moved within her. If she looked down, she would see how they connected; his cock engraved inside of her, and her nectar dripping down on to his sac. He knew how to please her, the times when his fingers buried in the apex of her curls and stroking her clit making her body thrum with delight. “You cannot play the courtier’s game, Hermione.”

It was a game she would lose, with him inside her.

The first time he'd had her, he sank his teeth into her shoulder and moaned that she'd been made for him. He said nothing out of turn, not even when he was spending himself inside her, and she'd believed him. Her heart had twisted inside of her chest, beating until she could hear nothing but the thrum of her heart, and her blood rushing through her veins. He was the first one to have her, allowing her to wrap herself in his sheets, and spend the night - quivering, and weeping with ecstasy - in his bed.

He was the first one to fuck her, as he'd bent her over his desk, and plunged himself inside her. She'd left scratches on the wooden top, and he'd smirked with pride when he'd seen them. He delighted in her cunt, he told her and chuckled when her cheeks flamed red, though both knew, it was true. She was always wet and shuddering beneath him, as he covered her body with his, and made her scream his name.

And the way he said her name -

No one had said it like him before. No one was like him, no one had his intensity or the ambition that burned through his veins. He'd become their master by murdering their king in the night, though it was a charge the court was unable to prove, and one the peers lacked the courage to try. He was above them all, a man made by his power, as he forced their magic beneath his heel.

And yet, as her fingers graced his cheek, she knew that she cared for him.

She was a fool, she admitted.

“You are more than I thought I would have,” she said simply, setting the book beside his pillow. “You’re more than I thought I would have, Your Grace.”

She rarely called him by his name, knowing that she would rue the day he disavowed her from it. She used his title instead, except when she was so far gone into pleasure that she could think of nothing else; chanting his name as she would at prayer, as he buried himself inside her. He was the first to make her body his own, branding himself on her soul.

Tom made a noise in the back of his throat. “You are a blessed fool, Hermione.”

She leaned forward, moaning as he drew his hips against hers, once more. He cared for her pleasure as he did his, something she knew was a rare occurrence amongst most lovers. The others who shared her dormitory had whispered often enough, when the candles burned low and the matron snored, about their experiences.

There were painful couplings, every girl knew when a wizard forced their witch to mate with them; taking them as if they were mere animals. They could - they would - force them to ride astride them, even on their monthly courses, or would have them on their hands and their knees while yanking on their hair. When one girl had wondered if it would be delightful, the others had scorned her, saying she would understand soon enough.

And Hermione -

Hermione had listened to their gossip and never said a word, instead, reciting spells in her head. Her hand had moved beneath the woolen covers, practicing the wand movements, and in the daytime, she would tackle her lessons as no one else did. She had a precociousness for learning and had the drive to be the foremost amongst them.

Still, there was an ache in her heart, one that had gone without a name, until she happened across the definition of loneliness. The author had described the maladies associated with it, and she’d recognized her aching chest, her constant low-burning fevers, and the tears that dripped down her cheeks when she was alone, as fitting the word.

And so, in her own, determined way, she’d set about making friends - finding companionship with a boy whose hair burned like fire embers, and another, one who wore thick eye spectacles. Ron made her laugh as no one else did, while Harry empathized with her; both of them outsiders to the magical world they lived in. Neither had a parent to guide them, understanding the magical world like the back of their hand. They’d had to learn about the world alone, and Harry had suffered loneliness as she did, though he’d found kinship with Ron before she had.

Yet even they didn’t understand her thirst for learning, no, her need to learn. It was more than an intention to be knowledgeable; her hand waving in the air when a question was posed. No, it was a need that was the same as breathing for her, one that no one else seemed to understand.

No one, until she’d met Tom.

She’d found a hidden entrance to the king’s library and had been ecstatic to run her fingers across the old, and weathered tomes. She’d held one to her chest, the muggle story the same as the one her parents had once read her, and quietly wept until she’d felt a hand on her shoulder and spun forward to face the stranger. She’d found herself gasping when she realized who it was, and plunged into a deep curtsy -

“Your Grace -“

And he'd taken her hand, pressing it to his lips, and asked her questions, instead of sending her off to be punished. She'd understood, then, why courtiers were devoted to him while fearing him more than any other. Power emanated from him, one that made her as cold as a winter’s night, while his dark eyes made her want to lean closer to him still. He’d found her repeatedly again after that, inviting her to spend time in the library as she wished, while she told no other about their meetings.

It was easy enough, as no one asked where she went, nor cared to know about the hickeys that soon covered her throat. Beneath her robes, there were more, ones that covered the swell of her breasts, and her collarbone. She'd traced the feel of them as if she could feel him through the marks that he made.

Soon enough, he asked her to read to him, inside his four-poster bed and outside from it, as if he wanted her company. It was heady and exciting, and dangerous all the same; as something wavered in the back of her throat when she met with him.

_danger_.

She knew she couldn’t give her heart to him.

“You could be my equal,” he mused, his dominant hand moving to palm her breast. She keened at his touch, his fingers tugging at her erect nipple. “If you let yourself go, Hermione.” He would own her soul if she allowed him, and with every passing day, she felt that he would take it from her, no matter her wishes.

Her head dipped, her wild curls curtaining the both of them.

“Shall I continue, Your Grace?”

“Tom,” he corrected, harshly thumbing her nipple. He could feel as she shuddered beneath his touch, just as she pressed her breast against his palm; wanting more. “You know my name, Hermione.”

She swallowed, feeling him harden further inside of her. He knew how to tantalize her with the feel of him, slowly rocking himself against her; his cock driving further within her wet cunt.

He'd taken her for hours once, covering her body with his, as he held himself by straining forearms, and teased her. He'd withdrawn every time she came close to cumming until she was begging him; tears running down her cheeks, and her throat covered with his kisses. He hadn't held her after, he never did, but instead let her cum as much as she liked, before tucking her exhausted self against his side, and read to her from a transfiguration tome, one banned by his advisors.

“Tom,” she murmured, pressing her lips against his jaw. Her tongue flicked against his skin, tasting the sweat that ran down his cheeks. He was her keeper, and she his slave -

Yet her traitorous body was not inclined to disagree.

“O hark, O hear! How thin and clear,” she resumed, her arms coming to entwine around his neck. “And thinner, clearer, farther going! O, sweet and far -“ She keened as he moved inside her, thrusting his cock against her weeping cunt. Her fingers were nothing compared to the feel of him, and her blush deepened, spreading to her quivering chest. “From cliff and scar, the horns of Elfland faintly blowing -“

He captured her lips with his, kissing her as if he would stake his ownership upon her. Her body was thrumming with delight as he took her in earnest then, rolling them over so he was on top of her. She felt so small beneath him, subject to his will as he whispered her name, and his hand moved to tease her clit. "Continue," he said as if they were not in the throes of fucking, and he hadn't hitched her leg about his hip, letting him drive deeper into her.

“B-Blow,” she moaned, “let us hear the purple glens replying -“

“Louder,” he instructed, even as pre-cum leaked from his tip, and his fingers became soaked from strumming her clit. “Please your king, Hermione.”

“Blow, bugles; answer, echoes,” she hesitated on the next words, tentatively licking her lips. “…dying, dying, dying.” He hummed in agreement and allowed her to cry out as he thrusted inside her, and her hands scrabbled at the back of his neck and tugged at his dark curls. Her cunt was slick and warm, grasping his shaft as if he would make her his home.

"O love, they die in yon rich sky," she forced out the words, knowing her pleasure would cease if she paused for too long. "They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul -"

He held her gaze, his smoldering eyes never letting her go. She felt naked before him as if she had no chemise, no skin, but only her secrets and her insides. “And grow forever and forever.”

The poem didn’t end then, no, she knew the words by heart as she thrashed beneath him. He held her in place, his fingers cruelly plucking at her clit, and making her gasp at the sharp sensation. “Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes f-flying -“

She felt slick leaking from her walls, the sticky nectar drenching his shaft, and dripping on to her thighs. He felt the same as she did, and she saw his lips curve into a cruel smile. He wanted her unmade, with her curls streaming over the silken pillow, as if she were his own nymph; captured and made to please. “And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.”

He let her cum then, as she cried out his name and pulled him closer still. He filled her heart and her cunt as if he would have all of her inside, and they both found their release. He came in thick, sticky ropes of cum that made her gasp, and her heart quickened at the lewd, squelching sounds their bodies made as he thrust once more inside her. He could cum inside her without consequence; the contraceptive potions she took monthly, ones that he brewed himself.

He relaxed against her, the room filled with the sounds of their uneven breathing, and the sheets shifting as they moved. He rolled off her, leaning against the gilded headboard, and rarely for him, drew her against his chest. She rested her head against his neck and said nothing as he drew his elegant fingers through her curls. “The poem,” he said at length, “what is the title?”

“The Splendor Falls,” Hermione said softly. “Tennyson, Your Grace.”

“Fitting,” he said, without further comment.

He said nothing more, as his eyes drew closed. He made no motion for her to leave, keeping his hand enmeshed in her hair, and used the other to draw the sheets around them. It wasn’t home, it never could be -

Still, she felt an ache in her chest, one only made heavier by the cum that trickled between her thighs.

* * *

As she surged beneath her memories, she found herself gasping for air -

(she couldn’t breathe, her lungs taut as she struggled. She felt as if she were underwater, her arms tangled in another’s, and her legs kicking, while the sound of her blood rushed in her ears.)

grasping for him -

and found her gaze met by his, her familiar’s, her _mate’s_. She knew, within her twisting soul, that she was his, and that he was hers; their fingers entwined about the others.

"Crookshanks," she whispered and found her world filled by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Jelly and NCUH, thank you guys for helping me! My writing is much better because of your beta'ing skills. 🦝🖤


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going through a health crisis, and have been in and out of the emergency room. They've cycled through different ideas, but haven't found anything conclusive, and advised me to take ibuprofen and see my regular doctor.
> 
> Despite not being able to eat, and barely drink for over a week now.
> 
> Thank you local health care system ;; 
> 
> I see my doctor early in the morning, and have tickets for the first showing of TROS tomorrow, though I saw spoilers on Tumblr. My heart's still with TLJ when Kylo asked Rey to join him... :( I have a 10,000k+ reylo fanfic I've had in my files for awhile, seeing TROS may push me to edit it, and upload!! It sounds silly, but I stayed up last month to buy the tickets (the theater is having a 'party' before the showing, and giving away Star Wars pins) and I might cry if I can't go - I'm so excited, though knowing the fate of reylo makes me sad (and eager to read more fanfic!). 
> 
> I'm on Christmas break now, but with my on-going health crisis, I'm not sure how much I'm going to upload. I'm in a lot of pain, and reading your comments makes my day a lot better - thank you to anyone reading my work, and leaving your thoughts, kudos, etc. It's amazing to see, and I'm so thankful for all of you! 🐍❤

Cecil knew better than to travel in the forest at night. Countless things dwelled there, creatures that never saw the light of day, and relished feasting on joy. His village had legends of creatures that took the shape of man, every child knowing not to go out after dark.

He traced a fallen branch with his boot, watching as salamanders scattered from beneath it. As a child, Cecil had been willing to go farther than anyone else, knowing exactly where the tastiest mushrooms grew, and where the fattest rabbits wandered. Before he'd inherited his father's crossbow, he'd made a sling for himself with a bit of twine and notched wood and used it to sling pebbles at small prey.

Once, he had caught three squirrels with it before he heard her voice, melodious and light, yet far away; the same as when he ducked his head underwater, and his mother scrubbed at his hair.

“_Cecil_,” he heard her call, “_Cecil, where are you_?”

Yet the lure -

His heart had quickened at the sound of snapping underbrush and woodland creatures fleeing. He'd known that something was approaching, something sinful and significant like the first time he'd kissed his mother's friend in her sleep.

And he'd wanted to stay, as the melodious voice urged. He hadn't wanted to go home, dropping the ream of squirrels next to his feet. She could have them, as he felt its hunger, the same as he felt his own. She could have anything it wanted, if only she talked to him still.

“_I’m so alone_,” she cried, “_So lonely, and afraid_.”

"Please," he'd whispered, somewhere, deep in his curled heart knowing the right words. He wanted to lay himself prostrate at her feet and kiss the hem of her robe with his worshipful love. There were feelings in him, awakened from a place he hadn’t known existed; ones that tugged at his ribs, and filled his heart still. "Benevolent lady-"

It was the crack of his mother's switch against his backside that woke him, as he jerked awake screaming.

"Twelve lashings," his brother, William, had gleefully informed him after the fact when he'd laid on his pallet with his britches down past his knees. His bottom had been as red and angry as if he'd been stung, and Cecil knew better than to rest on it. "Mother's quite upset you missed dinner - Uncle had to find you, you know, and carry you back as if you were a babe."

William snickered while Cecil stuttered his excuses. He had caught dinner; three, nearly four, fat squirrels as their mother had wanted.

"That's not what Uncle said," William replied smugly. "He found you asleep curled against a great tree, with your head between your knees!"

It was later, when Cecil had confided in his grandmother, that she'd warned him of the beasts that wandered the forest. "Never listen to their cries," she'd told him, grasping his cheeks in her gnarled hands. "Never, never, they'll own you that way, and enslave you, Cecil. Stick your fingers in your ears and run as fast as you can." She’d made him swear to her that he would follow her wishes, and he had, spitting out the words as earnestly as he could.

All while his toes crossed in his tan boots, the same feeling that he’d had in the woods haunting him again. He felt it was a betrayal, as he said the words, and it felt like salt was rubbed into his bleeding insides.

“Forgive me, benevolent lady,” he thought, the thought rising on its own.

"She's just as mad as you are," William had told him after, having eavesdropped at the door as any self-respecting and terribly bored villager would do. "There's nothing in the woods besides bears and our dinner, and mayhap a thorny dowager or two."

Cecil scowled, his brother having recently decided that he would become a troubadour - a traveling poet of sorts, as he wasn't the elder son. He was free to travel as he wished, strumming the lute their mother had traded their aging ass for, and writing pretty poems for any fair woman or besotted man.

"I'll show you," Cecil muttered, kicking at the muddy ground.

* * *

And he had, three years later, when he'd convinced his brother to go foraging with him, wandering deeper into the forest then they'd ever been before. They found a mini valley, one springing with life and untouched vegetation. Together, they'd found more nuts and morels than they could carry back, the woven baskets they brought overflowing.

Cecil still wondered whether it was the sound of their laughter or the noise of their foraging that called the creature near.

Only it wasn't a creature then - it was their father, looking the same as when he had left them. "Cecil” he'd called, "William, my boys."

He had opened his arms wide, and his brother had dashed forward -

While Cecil hung back.

It was their father's eyes that made him weary, darker than the warm amber he remembered. His eyes made him feel aa if he were staring into nothing, his stomach clenching funny.

"Cecil," his father asked, "Won't you come near?"

"It's William you want," he'd said, sullen and uncertain. And the creature had smiled, bearing his glimmering teeth in the light -

And the screaming started, when the creature sank them into William's shoulder, as his arms grasped him tight.

Called to the present, Cecil swallowed tautly. He thought of his brother still, and the end he had faced.

He'd run, half stumbling, and sobbing through the forest until he'd found the village edge. Villagers had swarmed about him, as he stuttered and cried that a bear had taken his brother; knowing better, even then, then to say a creature had taken him.

The villagers had gone to find William's remains, returning with only his heart to give to his grief-stricken family.

His mother had gone half-mad with grief and accused him of slaughtering his brother as if he were a beast. He hadn't, Cecil swore, and she'd turned her face to the cabin wall, and had never looked away. Not while her beloved son wouldn't see the light of day, not ever again.

* * *

Cecil felt the weight of his crossbow against his back and grimly smiled.

He would avenge his brother's murder and bring his mother’s its head.

"I am innocent, mother," he'd say, and she would realize that she had one still living. He was a man now, years having passed since his brother's death, and his body was fit and trim. He knew to follow his instincts, the same as when he went hunting and trusted them to find his prey.

Only instead of a rabbit or an unfortunate squirrel, he would find the creature that had devoured his brother, the one that claimed the forest as its home.

"Guide me," Cecil pled, and twinkling lights appeared...

* * *

"Someone is watching," It murmured in her ear.

"Let them," Hermione replied, whimpering as his hand slipped between her thighs. It knew how to touch her, having quickly gleaned what she liked; a ruthless pace without mercy, crooking its fingers inside her as she cried out their name.

"Crooks," she groaned, "Oh - right there!"

It had numerous names, yet liked Crookshanks most of all, It assured her. It would accept anything that she wanted to call him, as long as she said it sweetly, with her lips caressing the name. 

It was this name that she mewled, while splayed beneath him like a kitten.

Had there not been countless relationships between witches and their familiars, Crookshanks purred into her ear when she had first struggled against him. Was it not natural to need another? There was power there, between them, their magic flourishing as they shared it with another.

She felt the creature's age as its knowledge wove itself into hers. It had seen Morgana with her familiar, a great, ravaged wolf that took the shape of a man when the full moon rose. It had seen the bond between them and wanted it for itself.

Envy was never something the creature took well to.

She felt its power as it took her, cradling her to it with its tentacles while she was boneless and whimpering from her last orgasm. It was determined to please her, came the thoughts whispered through their bond. It was determined to care for her.

When had she ever had that before?

He, as her familiar could never be it to her, was excellent at eating her out, she thought. He was worshipful as he laved his tongue against her clit, before dipping it into her soaking cunt. He drew her folds aside, thrusting his tongue inside her the same as he would his member, taking her breath away. She could die happily under his ministrations; as her back arched off the bed, and his hands held her thighs apart still. He was so, so much larger than she was, his upper half looming over her.

Her instincts crooned that he was a good mate, a strong mate, capable of providing for her and their young when she came into season.

He hummed as he lapped at her dripping clit, before drawing his name out in her dark curls.

C R O O K S.

He ached to please her, she felt, and she murmured sweet things to him. He was the best that she'd had, she confessed, and could he use his tentacles again -

She was entrancing when she begged, Crooks murmured lowly.

Her wish was answered and more when his tentacle slid inside her, made slick by her sweet nectar. She moaned at the feeling, a shudder going through her. It was one of his thicker tentacles, feeling the same as two of his fingers, and eagerly thrust between her folds. It set an unrelenting pace, drawing in and out of her, and went deeper each time.

"Merlin -"

She buried her hands in her mate's hair, wanting everything he had to give.

* * *

Cecil groaned as he palmed his member. There was something he had to do - something he needed to do -

The lights had led him to a cabin in the woods, one he'd never known before. Was it the home of a hunter? The home of a family gone for trading? He had little idea and found it mattered less when he peered in the window and found a couple writhing in foreplay. They were naked, their bodies glistening with sweat, and the woman’s dark curls cascaded down her back.

“Lovely,” Cecil whispered.

His eyelids felt heavy as he watched the scene unfold in front of him, a furious beast allowing a gorgeous woman to ride his mouth.

He had teased her mercilessly before she'd snarled and dragged his head up to kiss him. They'd moved in tandem, the nude man moving to lay back against the bed, while the woman crawled on top of him, gripping the headboard while she lowered her cunt to his greedy mouth.

Cecil had been transfixed by the scene, and the muffled cries he had heard. He’d never seen anything like it before, never known that it could be like that, and pressed his face against the glass as if he were a boy again. His hand had slipped into his trousers before he knew it, and he'd fondled himself in rough pleasure.

"Hermione," the creature groaned, "My sweet Hermione..."

* * *

"Would you like to taste him?" Crookshanks asked, cradling her cheek in his hand. She nipped at his forefinger, curling her tongue against the rivet of blood she drew. It was honey on her tongue, a taste that she loved.

"I could," she murmured, her cheeks flushing pink. Her mate knew the hunger inside her, the same that burned in him. Where he was drawn to fear, she was drawn to pleasure, whether it was the joy of a child or that of a voyeuristic man.

She could feed only from her mate if she wished, yet there was prey right there -

She shuddered at the word prey, feeling cold sliver down her back. “Shh,” Crooks whispered, drawing his black tongue against the seam of her lips. She tasted sweeter than anything he’d ever known, even the fairies whose wings he’d snapped between his teeth. She was the same as fresh cherries, sunlight, and the laughter of the innocent; enough to make him revel in her, and her sweetness.

“You aren’t the same as you were,” he crooned, his tone delighted. “You’re more than they could ever aspire to be, Hermione.”

She’d awoken from her change, hissing and spitting like a furious cat, and she’d tangled furiously with her mate. Her instincts had screamed at her to get away, to hide - only he’d been there, blocking her way. He’d held her in his arms and sank his canines into her gland when she struggled until she'd felt her wrath melt into a burning ache for _him_.

She'd pushed him on to his back, unquestioning of why she had talons, or eyes that burned golden as he did. She'd ridden him until they were both gasping, and she'd reveled as her talons sank into his shoulders, and over his forearms. She'd marked him as hers, as they fucked. She'd mewled as he marked her gland, making her bleed the same as he did.

“_More_,” she’d gasped, “_More, please_ -“

She’d wanted him to take her without end, her body desperate for him. He’d moved her to her hands and her knees and had taken her behind as if she were nothing more than an animal in heat. He’d wrapped her pretty curls around his fist and tugged her head back as he thrust into her, and had loved nothing more than her glazed eyes, and parted lips. She was the prettiest he’d ever seen, an Aphrodite in the making.

He'd known then, why his kind was desperate to mate, as he came inside of her; his knock locking them together. There was no comparable feeling, nothing close to the ecstasy he felt as his seed ran from her thighs. He collected it with his fingers, and drew it across her swollen clit, before toying with her golden thatch of curls.

“_Pretty, pretty girl_,” he purred, his mouth filling with warm saliva. He wanted to share it with her; let her drink from him until she gasped to get away - and even then, he’d hold her to him, and force her to drink. She needed his pheromones, her transformation making her little stronger than a kit was. For this reason, he was glad that he’d cast an illusion about her home in the swamp, appearing as a cabin in the middle of the woods instead. He would keep her coddled as his treasure, he would keep the world away.

Neither had wanted to part, as she collapsed beneath him, and he lay atop her. His hand played with he clit, and the other with her breast; palming her nipples until she squirmed against him and nipped at her lip. “_I’m yours_,” she moaned. “_Only yours_.”

He'd covered her face in open-mouthed, hot kisses before claiming her lips as his; his tongue snaking inside. They'd tasted another, their tongues dancing as their arousal flared once more. He knew that mating sessions could happen for several days, a frenzy of fucking and losing themselves in another.

And it had been, even when Crookshanks had sensed another coming near.

  
  
The forest was his home, none existing within it without him knowing. It was the folly of man to think themselves apart from his rule, and he knew the man outside well. “Cecil Willoughby,” Crooks purred, drawing his thumb against his mate’s bottom lip. “He’ll please you, sweetheart.”

At the raised brow she gave him, he smirked. “His _taste_.”

He would never share her with another unless she desired another form of himself. He eased his knot from her and chuckled at her sweet whine, and flaming cheeks. His seed was smeared across her clit and her thighs, and he knew that she missed him buried between her thighs.

He kissed her temple sweetly, before easing her to her knees, and then to her feet. He knew she would be weak, and let her lean against him while admiring her naked form. Soon, she would be stronger and faster than he was, and if her talents were anything to go by, she would be more vicious than he ever dreamed of. She was a talented witch, the prejudice that man held against her making him laugh.

He’d tasted the blood of them all, and it was equal in its near earthy, metallic taste. It was fear that made it palatable, it was fear that made blood akin to ambrosia in his mouth. He often held it in his mouth, letting the blood pool there before he swallowed as if it would burn itself inside his very flesh, and let him endlessly. Alas that was a dream even Crooks couldn’t make real, bound as he was to the dreams of man.

He knew the boy turned voyeuristic man well, Cecil reminding him of another boy that he’d known. Really, his jealousy over his brother had been so trite - yet the ecstasy radiating from him then was more pleasing than the feelings he’d exhibited as a boy. Crooks purred, nuzzling his mate’s hair.

“He sees an illusion still,” he explained, knowing how eager Hermione was for knowledge. “He sees us fucking, instead of _hunting_,” he stressed the word, knowing how his little mate clung to morals still. She would learn to shed them, though he was glad she didn’t hunger for fear as he did, particularly from children. She would never take to hunting then, and Crooks was repulsed at the idea of his mate allowing herself to starve, aside from him feeding her. He had little desire to leave her defenseless, aside from when she was weak and mewling beneath him from desire.

Hermione trembled, brushing her hand against his forearm. “I…I could try,” she said, drawing her teeth against her swollen lip. She felt her mate’s pride radiate through their bond, and his purring became louder still. She had a vision then, of the two of them covered in crimson, and his hips jutting against hers. He was taking her as she leaned against a tree, the creatures of the forest scattering, as they let their inner predators' free reign.

She blinked the image away and peered up at Crookshanks.

He towered over her, her head barely reaching his shoulder. He made her feel small and delicate, as he held her wrists between his hands and caressed her knuckles with his thumb. “Will you show me how?” she asked softly, both of them aware of the lingering man.

Cecil was drawn to their fucking and had been caught in her mate's illusion, one that wrapped about him as tightly as a spider's web. She felt the ache in her throat, one that was steadily increasing as she felt his emotions, and how he jerked at his member. It felt the same as if she were doing it in his stead, as she heard the rush of blood in her ears, and soft pants came from her throat. Her knees felt weak as she clutched her mate tighter, leaning on him as her hunger flared.

“Please,” she keened, and he lowered his head down toward her. Tenderly he drew his tongue over her cheek, and her temple, as if he were bathing her as sweetly as if she were his kit. “Oh Hermione,” Crooks murmured, kissing the bridge of her freckled nose. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Show me everything,” she told him, and he smiled crookedly, both knowing that he would. He was the only one that she needed, the only one that she wanted, and she allowed their bond to open fully.

The foolish boy turned voyeuristic man outside had little idea what awaited him.

Throughout the forest, screams rang…

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Soup, and Grammarly, thank you! 🦝🖤


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a mini-chapter that takes place before chapter five - Reverse asked me how long it had been since Hermione's transformation, and the death of Cecil, so I whipped this up! 🦉💖
> 
> I spent hours in the hospital on Friday night and went through several, painful tests. I was severely dehydrated and went through bags of fluid while I was there before they determined that it isn't my gallbladder, but instead my stomach itself, that's cramping and twisting internally. The lining of it is severely damaged too - I'm home on the mend, taking six pills a day so I can eat/drink. I have severe food allergies, ones we only discovered when I was a teenager - I'm twenty now, and it seems like my allergies to gluten, and other things did a number on my system, besides my poor health in general. 
> 
> It's going to be a slow healing process, and I'm still going to meet with the surgeon, as well as my regular doctor again too. They said if I get worse, I need to go straight to the E.R. Still, I'm grateful they were able to help me, and fingers crossed everything goes okay. 🙏🏻
> 
> Thank you for all the kind messages and comments, it really means a lot to me. It's been so uplifting to check my inbox and see positive messages, especially when I'm feeling like this. I'm almost to 100k views and am so, so very grateful (and excited too!). I've been thinking about what I can do, and may do a giveaway once I reach it, or open requests again, though it's iffy with my health. 
> 
> I hope that everyone has a merry *merry* Christmas and a happy New Year. ⛄🎄

Pennywise, a silly, inconsequential name for the creature that he is now, knows how to be patient.

How long had it been, he wondered, since he felt content?

Before he'd found his mate, time itself had been a blur of instinctual need. He'd hunted his prey, reveling in the chase, and the sickening crunch of their bones between his teeth, when their game came to an end. He remembered everything down to the minute detail, every child's face imprinted to memory. Yet it was with restless wonder that he wandered; from places that were furious and loud, to ones desolate and without a name.

He knew how to survive, the example of his kind that he was. He would live without end, gorging himself on the fears of the creatures he hunted, while lavishing in the continual game of predator and prey.

Yet with his sleeping mate in his arms, he felt his life change. It wasn’t a game as he’d hunted her, drawing her closer to him, as he embedded her deep within his web. It was a want and a need, one that had buried like a tick under his skin, one that should have made him hate her as he allowed it. Already, he felt his hackles rise and his teeth angrily snap at the thought of harm coming to her, even due to his own hand.

He should have hated many things about his Hermione, yet found he cared not.

“Imagine ensnaring me,” he mused, drawing kisses across her temple, “Wee little Pennywise.”

His tone was mocking as he said it as if he hadn't allowed her to hold sway over him. He'd been taken with the idea of being her familiar; using it as a way to cover her eyes further, yet, really the idea _was_ appealing to him. She was a caring witch, one who was different from the ones he’d encountered before, and ground between his teeth.

Instead, he'd found himself treating her as if she were a kit of his own, licking away ink stains from her fingers, and curling beside her on stormy nights to keep her warm. He'd found he had an influence over her dreams, even while he was forced into his furry, feline form, and had tended to her there too - showing her exactly what his nimble fingers, and greedy mouth could do.

In the week since her change had started, he’d continued to care for her, no longer limited by his form. He’d fucked her as if she were the only one that mattered, the only one he dared think of - and she took his knot wonderfully, mewling and keening against him, even in her changing state. He’d refused to leave her even for a moment, and his tentacles had reflected his chaotic energy; nursing at her breast, while others stroked her clit, and tickled her fingers and the pretty curve of her feet. They’d wanted to know her, more than ever before, and lapped at her skin, tasting her sweet, inviting scent. She was everything that he’d been searching for, the innocence of her fizzling on his tongue, and made him ache to devour her.

She was his ambrosia, the forbidden fruit he’d always been craving, the same as if he were a man undone. The thought made him trill in delighted laughter, as he had when he’d hunted for the first time. He’d rolled, naked, in the carnage he left behind; bloody trails matching his stained maw, and his fierce some claws.

“You were nothing before,” he told her, nuzzling her cheek. “And now -“

She was more than anyone would ever be.

He’d bathed her after, tenderly washing her skin, while his tentacles brushed through her wild curls, and he dressed her in an ivory nightgown that ended at her thighs. He’d kept her fed too, kissing her often, and snaking his tongue into her mouth; sharing his pheromone filled saliva with her. They both were following their instincts; he, knowing what she needed, and she was receptive in turn.

He'd chirred and petted her fondly, crooning to her what a wonderful mate she would make. Wonderfully - strangely - he'd found he meant the words. "Hermione," he said her name right on his tongue. "My Hermione."

Any moment now, she would embrace him in turn.

* * *

Her awakening was sudden as she jerked awake in his arms.

He had little memory of his beginning, as he had taken to his many forms as a man took to sin. It'd been nothing for him to adapt into another form, adopting another life as if he'd always been meant to.

Yet for Hermione, everything would change.

He held tight to her, unrelenting as she struggled against him. He shushed her with low, clicking noises that he knew her instincts would take to. She had changed on a fundamental level, one that could never be reversed, though he knew his little mate would have to be coaxed into accepting that. Hermione had always clung to morals, and he would have to teach her to abandon them.

“Do you know who I am, little one?”

His fingers trailed down the inside of her thigh, and his lips curved upward as she shivered. He knew the hunger that thrummed inside of her, one that he would encourage to a brilliant, burning level. “I…” Hermione licked her lip, before glancing away. Her vision was sharper than before, the sudden clarity making her temple ache. “I don’t - I don’t _know_ -“

“Should I? I feel as if I should,” She hesitated, and he traced her lower lip with his forefinger. She felt the feel of his sharp claws against her skin, as he pressed them enough for her to feel them, yet light enough to not pierce her skin.

Her eyes trailed over his features, her brow furrowing at the auburn glints in his dark hair. She knew him, yet -

It was a memory just out of reach, one that she wanted to place.

Hermione swallowed, feeling an ache in the back of her throat. It was the same as when she’d awoken in Tom’s arms, for the first time, and felt the sun kissing her skin. She’d been happier than she’d ever known, though she hadn’t been content - she’d felt like she was coming out of her skin and had slipped from her Lord’s bed.

The man lowered his head, pressing his lips to hers.

His tongue snaked from his mouth, gently tracing the outline of her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed, as she felt his hand cradling the back of her neck, and the other combed through her hair, without pulling her curls. Her heart stuttered at the feeling; one she had rarely known before. Once, there had been a boy with dark hair and glasses who had taken baths with her, two scared, little children who had wanted friendship deeply. He’d always combed her hair after, using a brush he’d purchased just for doing so. She’d always felt safe with her friend -

And she stilled against the man, realizing she felt the same then.

_Safe_.

She was safe, with him.

She felt as he covered her body with his own, and she settled into the sheets beneath her. The silk material kissed her skin, and she let the man close to her, as he nestled between her legs. She felt his hardness, yet her body -

Her body welcomed it, as she felt her cunt dampen.

His forearms quivered as he kept his full weight off of her, his body far larger than hers was. She felt fragile in comparison, as her toes pressed against his calves. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew, and had a memory flash then; one of a familiar who'd always known when something dangerous was near, often catching venomous creatures and crushed them between his teeth (while furiously shaking his head, and letting his muzzle be painted red) before allowing her anywhere near.

He’d woken her once, hissing and frothing at the mouth, when a gnome had hidden in the shadows of her home, with a bag full of the fire newts she'd collected. Her familiar had leaped and pinned the gnome beneath his paw, before tearing the bag from him. The gnome had scampered from the house, with her familiar bounding after him (a fight the gnome had lost, as Hermione found when the half-kneazle brought the twitching and deceased thief back to her). She’d pitied the gnome for losing, and her familiar had glared at her, with his tail madly swishing, as if he’d been _disappointed_ in her for not appreciating his offering.

Hermione tilted her head, blinking her thoughts away. “Your eyes -“

They were the same golden embers she’d known before.

"Crookshanks," she whispered and felt him smile as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She welcomed him then, her tongue tangling with his; languidly as if time meant nothing to them. The ache in her throat eased as he released his saliva into her mouth, and his fingers massaged her throat, encouraging her to swallow.

And she did, unable to resist him.

"You need to feed, sweetheart," he murmured against her lips, and she shivered, knowing he meant more than his offering. Her canines lengthened, and she squeezed his forearm, feeling his muscles strain beneath her hand. It was natural to hunt, her instincts purred, natural to _feed on lesser beings._

And on the edge of the forest, a man wandered into the dense brush... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Simon, and Grammarly, thank you! 🦝🖤


End file.
